


Holiday Cheer

by Flowerparrish



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Tower, First Kiss, Found Family, Getting Together, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Character, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Secret Santa, Team as Family, but in that american way where everyone still priveleges christianity even when they pretend not to, family holiday, hanukkah - mentioned, holiday fic, nondenominational holiday, recovering Bucky Barnes, set in 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: Steve finally sighs and says, “We’re doing a Secret Santa.”“No.”“You agreed,” Steve protests. “You said you were in.”“I did?”“I may have nudged you into it when you weren’t really paying attention,” Steve admits.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 54
Kudos: 251





	Holiday Cheer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts), [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).



> This fic started out as a gift for an exchange, and it grew into something very specific and not that at all. Luckily, I know two friends who will probably love it for different reasons, so this is for them. May they know that I am always thinking of them when I'm writing, and I appreciate their endless and tireless support. I'm so lucky to know you both. 
> 
> Now. As a disclaimer. I have used the "Jewish Bucky Barnes" tag, because in this fic, he is Jewish and it is significant to the plot. However, he is non-practicing, so if anyone thinks I should remove or modify this tag, please let me know. Also, I am not Jewish. I did some research and based the rest on what I know from Jewish friends; that said, please let me know if anything is incorrect or offensive, because that was never my intent. I appreciate all opportunities to learn and grow, and I will never be angry at being told I'm wrong.

Steve holds out a baseball cap to Bucky, a bunch of folded paper in the cup. “Pick one.”

Bucky eyes it warily. “For… what?”

Steve eyes Bucky with distinct disappointment. “You were there when we discussed it, Buck. Last night at dinner?” Steve prompts, like that will remind Bucky.

It does help, a little, in that now Bucky knows _why_ he doesn’t have a clue what Steve’s on about. He’d been distracted watching Clint and trying not to be _obvious_ about watching Clint.

Steve finally sighs and says, “We’re doing a Secret Santa.”

“No.”

“You _agreed,”_ Steve protests. “You said you were in.”

“I did?”

“I may have nudged you into it when you weren’t really paying attention,” Steve admits. “It’ll be good! Get to know the others.”

Bucky sighs and grabs a slip of paper; it’s easier to acquiesce than to fight Steve on something small like this. Whoever it is, he’ll buy Natasha a knife or Stark some fancy coffee or whatever.

“Thanks Buck!” Steve’s immediately mollified by getting his way, back to being chipper and over-earnest. Bucky rolls his eyes, because he’s been seeing through that I’m-too-nice-to-be-smug bullshit since they were kids.

“Whatever,” Bucky sighs, waving Steve away.

He doesn’t open the slip of paper until Steve’s gone, and when he reads the name there, his stomach drops.

Scrawled in Steve’s precise handwriting is the name _Clint Barton._

Bucky’s fucked.

**

The rules of the exchange are that you can’t tell anyone else who you got.

Bucky doesn’t _break_ the rules so much as he goes to Natasha and allows her to assume correctly.

“I need your help.”

She quirks an eyebrow, not surprise so much as disbelief.

Fair. Natasha and Bucky don’t avoid each other, but they rarely seek each other out. There’s a healthy respect between them, but it’s born of the knowledge that they’re both apex predators. They give each other space as a result.

But right now, fuck that. Bucky needs advice. “About the gift exchange,” he tells her, because he’s _not_ going to say the words _Secret Santa_ like he’s a teenager or—or—or _Steve._

“Oh.” She assesses him. He doesn’t fidget under her gaze, unlike the others, but allows her to make whatever conclusions she needs to so that she’ll concede to help him. “If you’re coming to me, that means you have the easiest person. He likes everything.”

It’s… not untrue. But… “Nothing is good enough.”

She blinks. It’s more of a tell than the eyebrow; that was a controlled motion, and this is an actual gesture of surprise. “In that case, I can’t help you.”

He’s disappointed. Not… fully surprised, no, but disappointed. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”

He turns to walk away and doesn’t glance back.

**

“So… what are the rules of this exchange?” Bucky asks Steve later. He can’t believe he didn’t ask sooner—that he’s been panicking without even knowing the parameters of this task.

“No telling anyone who your giftee is. No purposely shitty gifts. No spending more than fifty dollars. I think that’s about it?”

Well, crap. “Fifty dollars?”

“That one’s mostly so Tony doesn’t buy someone an island in an attempt to ‘win’ the exchange.”

Bucky… can see that. “But, a good weapon costs way more than fifty dollars,” he points out.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “There’s more to us than our jobs.”

Bucky huffs a sigh at that, annoyed. “Yeah, and for some of us, weapons are our hobbies, too.” He’s comfortable lumping Clint and Natasha in with him there—hell, even Thor loves a good weapon.

“Well, get creative, Buck. This should be fun.”

_Fun._ Yeah, right.

But Steve has that Look, the challenging one that says he’s convinced he’s right and he won’t give ground. So Bucky sighs and says, “Yeah, okay, Stevie. Fun. Sure.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder and squeezes. “That’s the spirit.”

**

Bucky laments, once again, that he had to draw Clint’s name. If it was Natasha, he’d just buy her a fifty dollar bottle of vodka. Or, maybe five ten dollar bottles of vodka? Or maybe one of those _giant_ bottles of vodka…

The point is, that would have been _easy._

Shopping for Clint is… hard.

It shouldn’t be; Natasha wasn’t wrong. Clint likes pizza, and he likes coffee, and he likes dogs so much that he wants them plastered on everything. Honestly, Bucky could probably get him a purple hoodie and some dog socks and he’d be happy. Throw in some coffee and some pizza coupons? He’d think it was the best gift ever.

But… Bucky doesn’t want to give Clint something that anyone else would get him. He wants to give him something _special._

Because, ugh, _feelings._ Feelings he hasn’t admitted to anyone—not even Steve. Feelings he’s not sure are even reciprocated. Sure, he spends the most time with Clint out of anyone (other than Steve, but that’s a given), and, sure, sometimes he catches Clint watching him when he’s not looking. Clint helps him escape from group events when he’s overwhelmed, and stays up until the early hours of morning watching reality TV with him when he can’t sleep because of the paranoia grasping at his brain that tells him he’ll have nightmares if he even tries.

So, okay, sure, they _might_ be reciprocated feelings.

But Bucky’s also, unfortunately, convinced Clint would do those things for anyone. He’s just that kind of friend.

So Bucky could get him a _friend_ gift, and it wouldn’t even be the worst thing ever. He’d get to see Clint’s delighted smile, and that would be worth it.

But that thought makes Bucky feel like he’s going to explode from hiding his feelings for another… who even _knows_ how long.

The problem is that Bucky doesn’t know what to get Clint that might make his feelings clear.

But that’s okay, right? It’s only late November now, just past Thanksgiving. He doesn’t have to think about it yet. It’ll come to him eventually.

**

The first week of December hits, and it becomes impossible not to think about it.

The entire Tower is decorated in sparkly tinsel and snowflakes.

A Christmas tree is put up in the Tower’s living room, impossible _not_ to see if you want to look at the TV, because it’s so huge it takes up all of the free space in the room.

_Presents_ start to appear under the tree, a visible reminder of Bucky’s failure to figure something out.

Steve wears ugly holiday sweaters, which is to be expected. But then _Natasha_ comes to breakfast wearing the ugliest abomination of a holiday sweater that Bucky has ever seen, and he’s… he’s so done with this season.

He wonders if they’d try to track him down if he just vanished and went to a small island in the Pacific to ride out the holidays. SHIELD would, at least, and they’d be pissed, and they’d blame Steve, so no, Bucky resigns himself to staying put.

So, instead, he grows grumpier by the day and holes up in his rooms more and more.

On December 14, when the cursed holiday exchange is only eight days away (Steve tells Bucky that they’d chosen to not do it on Christmas, because Christmas was already prioritized as a holiday by society over the celebrations of other faiths, which was such a _Steve_ thing to say that it made Bucky’s heart hurt sweetly), there’s a knock at Bucky’s door.

He contemplates just laying on his couch, staring at the ceiling and wallowing in his holiday misery until whoever it is goes away.

But in the end, he sighs and pushes himself up and off the couch and pads over to the door.

He opens it and finds Clint standing on the other side, his blond hair sticking up in different directions like he’d either been outside in the wind and snow and allowed it to dry funny, or he washed it and slept on it to the same effect. It makes Bucky’s heart feel warm. He ~~loves~~ hates it.

“Hi,” Clint says after a moment, and Bucky realizes he’s been silent; he’s been struck dumb by the power of Clint’s disastrous hair—what is the world coming to?

“Hi,” Bucky replies. He sizes Clint up and sees that he’s holding a package in his hands, clumsily wrapped and lumpy looking. “What’s up?”

Clint shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “I, uh, had something for you. A present.”

“It’s not Christmas yet?” Bucky points out, confused.

“Yeah, but it’s the last day of Hanukkah, right? I mean, I Googled it, and that’s what it said, so…”

Bucky doesn’t know what to do with that. Because, here’s the thing: he absolutely was raised Jewish. But those memories are as fuzzy for him now as most things to do with his past. With everything else he’s been trying to recover—primarily, whatever it was that made him a person at all—he hasn’t had the… what? Time? Space? Energy? Hasn’t had whatever it was he needed to start to recover that part of himself, too. Steve had made an effort, last holiday season, Bucky’s first in the Tower, but back then he was more The Asset then he was Bucky Barnes, and it had left him baffled, agitated, confused. Any reminders of his past had made him that way.

He’s grown a lot this year, but a lot of that growth has been because Steve learned when to push and how to let Bucky rediscover things at his own pace. So, Steve hasn’t made an effort this year, because Bucky didn’t bring it up. It didn’t seem important.

But in this moment? It feels important. He feels included, cared about, in the way Steve had been trying to make him feel last year. Like even if he hasn’t reclaimed this part of himself _yet,_ it still… matters.

He wants it to matter. He’s startled by how much.

He realizes Clint is still waiting for him to say something, looking increasingly uncomfortable as the silence drags on. “Oh, uh, yeah, probably? I… didn’t check,” he admits.

Clint nods. “Well, that’s what Google said. So. I have a gift for you.”

Bucky just blinks at him, still a little numb with the surprise of this moment. “Uh, okay, cool?” He winces at himself, because, _really? Cool?_ “You want to come in?” He moves aside and Clint hesitantly steps into Bucky’s space.

It’s the hesitance that shows Bucky that Clint feels as off-kilter as he does.

Clint steps inside, and Bucky closes the door behind him.

They stand there awkwardly before Clint holds out the poorly wrapped package in his hands. The wrapping paper is a pattern of tiny snowmen—winter themed, but not Christmas paper. Bucky suddenly feels too warm in his sweater even though he’d been chilly before.

He takes the package and says, “Should I open it now?”

Clint shrugs. “Whenever.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I guess I’ll open it, then.” He slides a nail under the tape to break the seal neatly, rather than ripping the paper apart the way he’s seen the others do with gifts. He’s not sure if it’s a holdover from his old life, when saving the paper was important, or if it has to do with how precious every gift seems to him now, like a surprise he isn’t sure he deserves but desperately wants to hold on to anyway.

He doesn’t like to think about it. So he doesn’t, mostly, just laughs when Clint gets antsy as Bucky carefully unwraps the package one piece of tape at a time.

It only takes a minute before Bucky can unwrap it all the way, and inside he finds a sweater, warm and soft.

He pulls it out and holds it up.

The first thing he notices is that it’s dark blue, surprisingly only in that Clint always tries to get everyone to wear his purple and defaults to it for gifts. But then Bucky notices that the snowflakes on the sweater are interspersed with little menorahs.

He stares at it for a moment before he looks back to Clint.

Clint’s biting his lip, but when Bucky looks at him, he blurts out, “I know you’re not, uh, observant, or whatever. But I thought it couldn’t hurt to give you something to acknowledge that your holiday is important too. Or something.”

Bucky looks back at the sweater. It feels soft against his human hand, warm but not so thick that he can’t wear it inside. “Thanks,” he says softly.

Clint nods. They both stand there for a moment, unsure, and then Bucky says, “Do you want to order a pizza and watch something on TV?”

Clint’s face breaks out into a wide grin. “Why Bucky Barnes, are you asking me to Netflix and chill?”

Bucky, who absolutely does have a twitter account, rolls his eyes.

He sets the sweater carefully aside, and they spend the rest of the evening sitting just a little bit too close on the couch, and it’s wonderful.

It isn’t until Bucky’s falling asleep later that night, belly full of almost two full large pizzas, that he contemplates once more what he can get Clint for the holiday. He can’t think of a single gift that will show the same care and thought Clint put into the one he just gave to Bucky.

At least he still has a few more days.

**

A mission takes them out of the Tower for a few days. When they make it back, debriefed and with alien goo washed away through multiple rounds of decontamination and then copious showering, Bucky has only one more day to find the perfect present for Clint.

_Shit._

It doesn’t help that Clint’s not even back yet; he’s still stuck in medical with a broken leg. He’s got months of recovery and physical therapy ahead of him, and he’s dejected and already climbing the walls of his hospital room ( _literally),_ and Bucky knows he could use some cheering up.

And then he gets the idea, and he just… _knows._ It’s like all those moments in cheesy cartoons when the clouds part and the light shines down and you just _know._

So Bucky goes to talk to the one person who can help him get this sorted in just over one day, just a few days before Christmas.

Pepper Potts.

**

“Where’s Barnes?” Bucky hears Stark ask from the hallway outside of the communal floor’s living room. He can picture them all there, scattered on their customary couches and chairs. It’s a good thing Bucky’s not there, actually, because Clint probably needs the seat where Bucky usually sits on his left side to prop up his broken leg. “We can’t start without him.”

“Here,” Bucky says, and he walks into the room with a big box. “Can I go first?”

Natasha has her lips pursed in a secret smile, because he _may_ have tapped her in late last night for help—it’s not like she didn’t know who his giftee was anyway. But everyone else is wide-eyed at the size of the package, not to mention…

“Are those… air holes?” Bruce asks tentatively.

“Yep,” Bucky agrees. A soft whining noise comes from inside the box. “So, can I go?”

Steve nods, looking somewhat speechless. Bucky’s not sure he’s _ever_ seen Steve speechless. He’d be proud if he wasn’t distracted by Clint.

Clint, who’s looking battered and bruised and lovely just the same, with the coffee table pushed close to him so that he can prop up his leg without taking Bucky’s seat.

Bucky sets the box down in his spot on the sofa and says, “Merry Christmas, Clint.”

Clint glances between Bucky and the box. “What—”

“Open it,” Bucky prompts, cutting him off.

Clint pulls the lid off of the box and makes a high-pitched noise that can only be called a squeal. “Holy shit, it’s so cute!”

Bucky lifts the puppy out and hands him carefully over to Clint. He’s calm, but he wiggles a little as Bucky hands him over to Clint, who takes him with careful hands.

“You got me a puppy?” Clint asks quietly, stroking a finger over the dog’s ears and head. The dog settles into Clint’s lap and closes his one good eye, perfectly content.

“Uh, yeah.” 

“How?”

“Pepper helped. He’s the runt of his litter; that’s why he’s so small. He was also born with only one eye, so he was having trouble finding a home.”

Clint’s eyes are possibly the widest Bucky’s ever seen. “I love him,” Clint whispers reverently.

“Well, shit,” Bucky hears Tony complaining in the background. “No one can beat a puppy. Why did Barnes have to go first?”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“What are you gonna name him?”

Clint shrugs. The movement jostles the puppy slightly, and he snuffles. Even Bucky melts a little.

“Bucky, sit down so someone else can go,” Steve says after a moment.

Bucky rolls his eyes but moves the box to the floor and takes a seat.

“Thank you,” Clint tells him quietly, when everyone else is distracted by exchanging gifts.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says. “And I’ll help you with him until you can walk again. Or, Pepper said we can set up a dog walking service? And have people vetted who can petsit when we’re all away?”

Clint nods. “I’d like that,” he says. “If you helped. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “I’d love to.”

**

Bucky’s days are filled with puppy treats and training and walks, and even more than all of that, with _Clint._

The first time the puppy—who Clint creatively names Lucky, something Bucky teases him about—gets left alone is New Year’s Eve, because Tony’s throwing a party. It’s low-key (for Tony), with just Avengers past and present and all of their adjacent friends and colleagues and family in the mix.

Bucky spends most of the night sitting with Clint, because Clint doesn’t feel like walking around on crutches, and Bucky doesn’t feel like interacting with groups of people.

They almost miss the countdown, because they’re involved in their own conversation, but the loud chanting of it cuts them off mid-topic.

“Y’know, they say the person you’re with when the new year starts is who you’ll spend most of the year with, too,” Clint says.

“Oh?”

Clint hums. “And that whatever you’re doing is what you’ll spend a lot of time doing, too.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, because there’s an intensity to Clint’s focus on him that makes his mouth too dry for words. Instead of trying to speak, he just nods.

“Can I kiss you?” Clint asks.

Around them, people chant three, two, one—

Bucky moves first, leaning in and pressing his lips against Clint’s. The kiss is soft and dry but Bucky feels electric. It only lasts for a couple of seconds, but when they pull apart, Bucky realizes his eyes have fallen shut.

He blinks them open to see Clint watching him. “Okay?”

Bucky swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “I wouldn’t mind doing more of that this year.”

Clint’s smile is blinding, brighter than the fireworks going off outside. “Yeah?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Instead, he leans forward and kisses Clint again.

**Author's Note:**

> Ending disclaimer: this author does not actually support getting people animals for birthdays or holidays unless 1) they explicitly ask for the animal, or 2) you know 100% that they want the animal and are willing to step in and take upon the task of caring for that animal if they do not actually want a pet. This has been my version of a PSA. 
> 
> That said! I hope you enjoyed this fic :D comments are always welcome and appreciated.


End file.
